


Once Upon A Wedding

by violentdarlings



Series: Modern Middle Earth [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, M/M, The Feeling Is Mutual, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin hates Thranduil, Weddings, or is it a commitment ceremony?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdarlings/pseuds/violentdarlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is at Legolas and Gimli's wedding. Commitment ceremony. So is Bilba. Sparks fly, and Thorin makes a dick of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon A Wedding

Thorin does not want to be here. Oh, he is pleased enough for young Gimli that he has found someone, even if that someone is the wretched Thranduil’s lad. Legolas is not a bad kid, for all he has his father’s colouring. But it seems the boy has not inherited Thranduil’s brooding, sullen face or his vile temperament. And a small, dark part of Thorin is pleased to see how ill at ease Thranduil is at his son’s wedding. Commitment ceremony. Whatever they want to call it, the grooms are joyously happy and the wine is plentiful and Thranduil is sulking. Really, Thorin decides, the whole thing can’t get much better than that, even if he has no desire to be here.

“Uncle Thorin!” Gimli says, his new husband at his side. Thorin is loath to quibble over the title. Truly, he has known Gimli since the boy was born, and it is no great burden to be considered his uncle. If anything, Thorin is rather pleased, and more than a little honoured.

“Gimli. Legolas. Congratulations,” Thorin says, and contents himself with that. He is not an individual of many words.

“Thank you, sir,” Legolas says rather shyly. Thorin is the head of the Durin family, and by proxy the head of Gloin’s, for all no one bothers much with the formalities these days. Even were he not the head of his kin, he fancies he has something of a commanding presence.

“Come now, lad,” Thorin says gruffly. “You’re family now. No need for that ‘sir’ nonsense.” Legolas smiles then, and Thorin smiles too, happily anticipating the expression on Thranduil’s face the day Legolas starts to refer to Thorin as ‘Uncle’. Any affront to Thorin’s not inconsiderable pride will be worth seeing Thranduil’s sour lemons expression at _that_. Thorin sighs, and decides he’d better make another stab at polite conversation. “Good turnout,” he says, possibly more gruffly than before.

“Exactly what I was going to say!” trills a voice, and all three turn. Legolas’s face lights up, and he pulls the newcomer over to his side.

“Uncle Thorin, this is Bilba Baggins. She runs the bookshop where Legolas works,” Gimli explains, but Thorin is not paying attention. Not when this rapturous creature is in front of him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Baggins,” Thorin says, and the little lady gives him a glowing smile.

“And you, Mr Thorin!” she replies. Thorin honestly can’t remember seeing anyone this adorable in years. “Are you enjoying the wedding?” Out of the corner of his eye Thorin sees Legolas and Gimli slink away, obviously well pleased with themselves. What is it about people getting married that turns them into bloody matchmakers? Thorin wonders.

“As much as can be expected,” Thorin says wryly. Miss Baggins chuckles.

“Legolas is a lovely boy, but his taste in decorations is a little, um. Floral?”

“Quite,” Thorin replies, and is just about to ask the pretty little woman to dance when it all goes to hell.

“Thorin…” the little woman says slowly, as though trying to remember something important. A faint expression of distaste comes over her face, and she nods vigorously to herself. “Not Thorin Oakenshield, who owns Durin Contractors?” Thorin nods, a slow sense of doom coming over him, and Miss Baggins’ little face goes from mildly irked to outright angry. “I hired your lads to fix the ceiling in the shop last year! What were their names? Silly and Filly?

“Fili and Kíli,” Thorin says through clenched teeth. Miss Baggins waves a hand impatiently.

“Yes, yes, that was them. They trod mud into the carpets! They pillaged the pantry! I’m not even going to tell you what they did in the bathroom!”

“And how was their repair job on your ceiling, may I ask?” Thorin near growls, and Miss Baggins blinks.

“Wonderful, thank you.” Rallying, the small woman pokes Thorin hard in the general vicinity of his collarbone. “That’s not the point!”

“Indeed,” Thorin says, fighting to keep his voice level. “The point is that you are a cantankerous, house-proud little ninny, and those lads – who, by the way, are my _nephews_ and damn fine boys – did precisely what they were paid to do. A little mud –”

“A little mud, indeed!” Miss Baggins snaps, but the most unexpected thing starts to happen. Rather than throw her glass of sparkling wine in his face, she starts to laugh. “I can be a little finicky,” she admits, and offers her free hand. “Well said, Mr Oakenshield.”

“Call me Thorin,” Thorin says, relieved she looks less likely to douse him in a cheap vintage. “I’m sorry about the lads, though,” he says, finding it much easier to be civil when she has already admitted a fault. “They can be untidy creatures.”

“But very efficient!” Miss Baggins says, nodding to herself. “The rest will come in time, I’m sure.” She sips her wine, grimaces, and places it down on the table. “Would you like to dance, Thorin?”

“It is customary for the man to ask the woman,” Thorin replies, but he is taking her offered hand. Miss Baggins harrumphs.

“If I waited for men to do the asking, I’d get nothing done at all,” she sniffs, leading him out onto the dance floor. Thorin hides a smile. He is getting the impression Miss Baggins likes things done her own way. With infinite care and not a little pleasure, Thorin takes the short woman in his arms. It has been a long time since he danced, to be sure, but he thinks he might remember well enough.

At least, until he steps on her toes. “I do apologise, Miss Baggins,” Thorin says, feeling heat rise up through his beard onto his cheeks.

“I will forgive you,” Miss Baggins says haughtily, “on one condition.”

“Yes?” Thorin asks, feeling a smile creep up on him.

“Do stop calling me Miss Baggins. Bilba will do well enough, thank you.” Thorin gives up on fighting the smile, and lets it show.

“Very well. Bilba.” Bilba grins back at him.

“See? It is not so hard.”

In silence, Thorin and Bilba dance together for several songs. Thorin feels the burn of Fili’s (amused) gaze, Kíli’s (sulking) expression, and Dis’ (smirking) smirk. Thorin pulls a face at his sister over Bilba’s shoulder, and Dis makes one back.

Which is of course the moment Bilba Baggins decides to pinch him firmly on the rear. Thorin jumps, tearing his eyes from his sister to look at the diminutive woman sedately waltzing with him. Bilba's face is the picture of innocence.

Thorin shoots a glance at his sister out the corner of his eye. Dis appears to be dying of laughter. Thorin stifles a groan. He is never going to live this down.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?” he asks Bilba. Bilba blinks and then smiles up at him.

“I would like that very much,” she replies, and pinches his arse again.


End file.
